Page 23 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Maxim

E lijah’s wrong if he thinks he won’t pay.

He left the country, and while I’d like to think it’s because he’s smart enough to run, the trip was arranged months earlier.

It doesn’t mean I won’t be waiting.

He landed at a private airfield this morning. It’s why I got up at the ass crack of dawn and drove out to our parent’s house. The estate is quiet on the gray foggy morning.

When my brother arrives from overseas trips, he speaks to our father first. They both prefer face-to-face meetings, hence why he went out of his way to come to the estate, when he normally avoids the place.

Just like Roma. I’m surprised to see his 1964 black Plymouth Barracuda in the garage. If it came down to saving his twin brother or his car, the vintage model would win every time.

The hood is cold, so he’s been here for a while. Strange since Elijah’s flight didn’t land long ago and it’s not that far of a drive from the airfield to the house.

Nondistinctive chatter drifts down the short hallway leading from the garage to the kitchen. Nothing ever stops my brothers from scrounging around for food.

“I told you not to push so hard,” Roma says, twisting his spine as he searches for something. He picks up a spatula.

Elijah has forgone his tweed for the day, instead pairing a blue button-down with matching trousers. His sleeves are rolled up and he leans against the kitchen island, waiting for Roma to finish making breakfast.

“We had a plan,” Roma goes on, eggs frying in the pan.

“Your plan was stupid.” Elijah lifts a glass of orange juice. His normally combed hair looks disheveled but I doubt it has anything to do with guilt.

“Your plan is going to get you killed.” Roma menacingly points the spatula at him. “And have some compassion for Russet if you’re going to interfere like that.”

I fucking knew it. They’re standing around talking about my wife.

Roma catches me in the doorway. “Oh, dear God.”

Elijah straightens off the counter.

“We are inside!” Roma warns.

The words have no meaning. I punch Elijah square in the jaw. Annoyingly, while his head slams back from the force, his feet remain perfectly rooted to the floor. I shove him onto the tile.

Roma yells at us before sighing and opening the fridge.

“What the fuck were you doing with my wife?”

The blood running down Elijah’s face gives his smile an eerie tinge. “Who knew you’d get so flustered at the thought of your wife eating pizza with someone else?”

“Is that a euphemism?” Roma asks, cracking more eggs into the frying pan.

I punch harder, but Elijah laughs. There’s a gleam in his eyes that should scare me, but the rage in my veins pounds harder .

For an entire week, it’s slumbered inside me. I shoved it down, afraid it’d spew and push Russet further over the edge. The cracked, broken thing currently known as my wife, scares the living hell out of me.

So I did what I always do and shoved down my emotions, not sure of how I wanted to move forward.

The only thing I do know is my brother deserves pain.

Elijah laughs like a maniac but when I hit his ribs, air catches in his throat.

“Hey!” Roma warns.

“Fuck off,” I yell over my shoulder, hand twisting in Elijah’s collar. “You’re making breakfast for this asshole while you’re talking about my wife. Don’t think you’re not next.”

Roma huffs under his breath. “We’re worried about your wife, hence why Elijah called me over here.”

Since birth it’s been Roma and me against Elijah, never the other way around. Since when do they hold emergency talks?

“Why are you talking about my wife?” I pull Elijah’s shirt only to shove him back down.

He slaps at my hand, but I don’t let go.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” Of all the things I could say it’s the weakest, but the words snap from me. My brother has to stick his nose into everything. I should have seen it coming.

Elijah continues to slap my hand, his words strangled. “I’m worried about you.”

I shove him into the ground, crushing him. “Worried for me or worried for Russet?”

Gray eyes stare up at me, unwavering.

“Come on,” Roma says. “Let him up and lets just talk about it.”

“Fuck off, Roman.”

A bowl clatters into the sink. “That attitude gets you no breakfast.”

“Baby brother,” Elijah tries to say, tapping my cheek.

It doesn’t matter how many times I punch him, the anger still courses through me. Roma’s the pacifist, but Elijah’s never pulled his punches. I fall somewhere in between, but right now it’s all beast.

“Please tell me how you’re going to explain it. What were you trying to do by bribing your way past my guards?” I fired the whole lot of them. “And getting rid of Olga?”

“Olga?” Roma pauses his cooking. “Why the fuck would you hire that bitch?”

Elijah’s pants of laughter hit my face. “Mommy dearest of course.”

I punch him again.

“Enough.” Uncle Dima looms over my shoulder. I don’t know when he came in, but he sighs, his face creasing with worry. And it’s all directed at me. “Maxie enough.”

I hesitate. This isn’t some schoolyard tussle. My brother went behind my back and tried to mess with my marriage.

“We Zimin men break things.”

Elijah’s tone of voice startles me. I’ve had a lifetime of his acting. The characters he clings to. There’s the bored drawl while he pretends to pick lint from his tweed suit. The sarcastic quips, the outrageous theatrics. The deadly, cold calculations behind every play he makes.

Through it all, a handful of times, I’ve caught a glimpse of the man he tucks behind the strange masks.

Desperate to hear the voice—his true voice—that Elijah never uses, I lower my fist.

“We break things, Maxie.” Is that actual sadness in his gray eyes?

Childishly, I retort with, “You break things.”

Cold, cruel laughter explodes from him. His chest shakes and I roll off him. We remain on the floor, Roma in front of the stove while Dima stands over us, not trusting we’re done with the punching.

Elijah looks up at the ceiling, blood smeared across his face. He continues to laugh, the sound causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand.

“I most certainly do break things,” he wheezes, an unnerving smile on his face. Lifting himself up, the ghostly smile widens. “But so does Roma.”

My twin drops a knife on the counter, irritated.

It doesn’t stop Elijah. “What you think you didn’t break Ren?”

I open my mouth ready to defend my little brother, but nothing comes out. It’s not my fight.

“We were all there. You took her soul and shattered it, Roma.” Elijah pauses, catching his breath. “But she picked herself back up. Shit, she took us all by surprise, putting a bullet in the back of Cliff’s head.”

I stand up on shaky legs, sitting on a barstool. Roma leans over the kitchen island, his shoulders tense. The eggs are going to burn, but he doesn’t care. Dima walks around, patting his shoulder. Our uncle will never appear sympathetic, but he takes care of us.

“Come on,” he says quietly, prompting him to focus on the stove. “We need some bacon with that.” Dima opens the fridge. All little movements, intended to break up the awkwardness.

Why is Elijah being a dick to Roma? They came here to talk about me.

Elijah pulls himself from the floor and his face looks even worse in the light. Avoiding his eye, I hand him a towel.

He takes it, stalking to the sink to soak it in water. Dima pulls out a bag of frozen peas, handing it over.

After cleaning off the blood, he presses the peas to his eye. “I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes as we did. ”

“By going behind my back to spend time with my wife?”

“I offered her a lifeline.”

The strong vehemence lining his words stuns me.

He switches the bag of frozen peas to his nose. “Christ, you’re a fucking idiot. She’s withering away and you didn’t notice shit.”

My mouth hangs open but he doesn’t let me talk.

“You’re supposed to be in your honeymoon phase, you asshole. Instead it’s like a funeral every time I step foot into your house.”

“Fuck off.”

My brothers told me I was an idiot, agreeing to Dad’s arranged marriage. And now I’m failing at said marriage.

Elijah holds his nerve. “What do you expect when you keep her trapped in a penthouse.”

“That’s not true.”

“She only goes out to meet your mother dearest.”

“Would you fuck off about that.”

“And she’s lost weight.”

A fist forms again. “Now you’re accusing me of not feeding my wife.”

“She scarfs down half a pizza every time I’m there.”

I want to rebuke it, but a fist squeezes my heart. Olga doesn’t even let me snack.

A cold sickness spreads over my body.

“She didn’t even know how to turn on the TV when I first got there,” Elijah says. “It’s not me you should be concerned about. It’s Sergei. The bastard’s her best friend at this point.”

I’ll fucking fire the bastard.

Roma notices my face. “Isolating her is the opposite of what’s good for her.”

“And you know what’s good for her?” I snap.

“Well you don’t,” he retorts with an odd show of contempt. “Or else Elijah wouldn’t be trying to offer Russ a lifeline.”

“Don’t fucking call her that.”

Roma rolls his eyes, speaking to Uncle Dima. “We can’t even call her by a nickname.”

“He never liked sharing his toys as a kid.” But he adds, “Russet isn’t a toy. She’s you’re wife, Max. And you have to treat her as such.”

“Why do you make it sound like I don’t?”

“How do you take care of her?” Dima asks.

“I don’t leave her out in the cold. She has a house, she bakes for god sakes. She goes around wearing shoes that cost a thousand dollars.”

“Oh, great he feeds and clothes her,” Elijah quips. “Husband of the Year!”

The accusation burns. My wife and I eat dinner together. Sleep together. Fuck together.

For some reason, it’s not enough for them.

“Do you ever talk to her?” Dima asks quietly.

My brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t explain, silently waiting for my answer.

“Of course I do.”

“No,” Roma replies. “You don’t. You don’t even talk to us.”

“This is coming from the brother who’s practically called it quits on the family business.”